


The Gifts Of Inquisitor Lavellan

by Kai_Smol_Trashlord



Series: My Dear Amatus, Ma'Vhenan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Gift Giving, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 06:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_Smol_Trashlord/pseuds/Kai_Smol_Trashlord
Summary: To show his appreciation of the Inquisition and how he values his allies, Ilren bestows gifts upon those he appreciates and cares for the most.ORThe one where Ilren is a generous sap.





	The Gifts Of Inquisitor Lavellan

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey I'm back back back back back again with more of Ilren. I put some more of Roxanne in this one too because I love her. 
> 
> P.S. Once again my struggle to write in character shows itself. I'm getting there though! Please bear with me!!

Cassandra blinks blankly, stunned into silence by the sudden appearance of Ilren. He stands before her, having been watching her practice with the training dummies, and his hands are behind his back. There’s a smile on his face, gently twisting the marks of his vallaslin that lay closest to his lips and the scarring beneath the ink. He’s all innocence and purity; he must be up to something. That is what Cassandra deduces upon giving him the once over. 

“Inquisitor,” she greets him politely. “What can I do for you?”

The elf shrugs his shoulders and nods to one of the dummies behind her. 

“You’re always improving. You do good work out in the field, Cassandra. Have you always trained so vigorously?” 

Cassandra chances a glance back at one particularly beat up looking dummy and can’t help but smile at the compliment. “Yes. I would train with Antony in the past, but these dummies work well for making sure I strike on target. It is important that I get stronger as we go up against tougher enemies.” 

The Seeker faces the Inquisitor once more, only to be met with the sight of Ilren holding out a carefully wrapped box. It’s small enough to fit in just one hand, but he offers it to her with both as if it’s precious or fragile. So confused is Cassandra that she merely stares and splutters. 

“What… is this?” she asks, brows drawn down in suspicion as she eyes up the box. 

The Mark on Ilren’s left hand glows a gentle green, illuminating the box ever so as he speaks. “It’s a gift to show my gratitude. To show my thanks for how hard you work for the Inquisition and our cause,” he tells her. 

The brunette takes the box, a little hesitant as she plucks it from his hands. Feeling his eyes on her, she pulls the string wrapped around the box that’s been tied in a bow and it comes loose. She tentatively unwraps the paper before lifting the lid, only to gasp. She gapes at Ilren with wide eyes, unsure whether or not this is some strange joke or cruel trick. 

“Inquisitor… this is-” 

“Yours.” The redhead’s voice is firm, though his expression is still kind. 

Cassandra trails a delicate finger over the intricate design of the broach. The silver interweaves like knots of metallic vines around the red ruby in the centre. The workmanship is exquisite and Cassandra can only think of how ridiculously expensive this must have been. 

“Inquisitor, I can not-” 

“You can take it and you will. As an Inquisitor and part of the Trevelyan household, the price wasn’t too eye-watering,” Ilren insists, backing away when the Seeker tries to hand the gift back to him. 

Cassandra is simply lost for words. She inspects the broach once more before beaming up at the elf. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I will treasure this.” 

Ilren grins and gives a small bow. “You may be a warrior, Cassandra, but you are still a woman. A woman who deserves to feel as such and not feel as if she is merely nothing more than another soldier.” 

His words stay with her as he turns and walks away. The sentiment rings through her head as she makes her way to her room, eager to try on her new broach in front of a mirror to see how it looks on her. 

  
  
  


“Maker’s breath! Don’t you know how to knock?” 

Cullen clutches his chest, heart pounding from Ilren’s sudden and unexpected appearance in his quarters. Paperwork is scattered in a disorganised mess all over his desk and the open bottle of ink has now spilled over the letter he was working on. The redhead rubs his earlobe between a forefinger and thumb as he offers the commander an apologetic look. 

“Sorry. I was wondering if you had a moment,” he says, clearing his throat. “I can return if now is not a good time for you.” 

The blond holds up a hand with a sigh. “No, now is fine. I need a break from all of this paperwork anyhow. What was it that you needed?” 

It’s at this moment that Cullen realises the elf has one hand behind his back, his left hand to be exact. He hides the frown of concern that wants to spill onto his face and rests his chin upon his clasped hands. The blond is no fool. He knows that the Mark pains Ilren at times, especially when the light glows or flashes brighter. Not only have his observations told him this, but Roxanne has fussed over the young man enough for Cullen to deduce that something isn’t right. Maybe it won’t kill him straight away, but it will eventually. He is certain of that. 

The elf moves to the desk and places a square box onto Cullen’s desk. The commander takes note of the untidy mess of wrapping and how the string is tied in a single knot. He knows that Ilren can be more delicate than this, especially after seeing him create chains out of embrium flowers on the battlements with Roxanne. Once again, he takes this as a sign that the Mark must be paining him once more. He knows that he should bring it up, but he’s so curious about the box that he doesn’t have the heart to do so. 

The corners of his lips quirked upwards, Cullen looks up at Ilren. “A gift, Inquisitor?” 

“Yes.” The redhead’s smile is strained, his left hand behind his back once more. “You constantly work yourself to the bone to make sure our men are trained and that our operations go according to plan. You’re the best commander that we could ever have fighting for our cause.” 

Cullen blushes faintly, glancing back down at the box before untying the string. He tears away the paper to reveal a little black leather box. The blond’s gloved fingers prise the box open with care and his breath catches in his throat when he finds two rings. Each one is made of gold and has tiny little embrium flowers engraved into the design. 

“You treat Roxanne well.” 

Cullen lifts his head and the smile on Ilren’s face is more genuine now. 

“She smiles more now that she’s met you. I know that it’s far too early to consider marriage or anything of the sort, but I know that you’re both good for each other and love one another more than any other couple I know. If I would predict anyone to be married in the next few years, it would be you two. I still stand by my threat to string you up by your entrails if you hurt her, but I’m confident now that you would have no intention of doing that. So please, accept this gift so that one day you may both use them.” 

The commander has no words to express his gratitude. No words to express how much this gift means to him. Just as he can’t explain how deeply he truly feels for Roxanne, he can’t explain how much Ilren’s gift means to him. 

“Thank you,” he chokes out, unable to contain his grin. 

Ilren just smiles and walks away, seemingly forgetting to keep his hand hidden as it glows a violent bright green by his side. 

  
  
  


Vivienne returns to Skyhold from an outing with Trevelyan and makes her way up to her quarters. She’s tired from the fight and she wants to deal with as little nonsense as possible from the other Inquisitor today. She knows the boy means well - it’s so obvious a blind man could see it - but she really just can not get along with him. They may see eye to eye on a few topics, but not enough for them to have any sort of friendship. He’s too uncivilised and has too many ideals about his people and freedom for Mages. She understands that this is due to little life experience outside of his little bubble, but she can’t understand how his mind has never changed in the year or so that the Inquisition have been active. 

When Vivienne reaches her quarters, it is to find a large staff leaning against the wall near her desk. She wanders over to it and inspects it, almost impressed by the quality workmanship and material used to create this weapon. She holds it for a moment to inspect it further and finds that almost instantly it feels perfect in her hands. It’s almost as if this thing has been crafted especially for her. 

“How curious,” she murmurs to herself as she places the staff back where she found it. 

The Mage spots a folded piece of paper on her desk and picks it up. When she opens it up, she finds the familiar scrawl of Inquisitor Lavellan’s handwriting. His Common in writing is still poor at best, but she’s able to understand it easily enough. 

  
  


_ Vivienne,  _

_ I noticed that the blade at the end of your staff was coming loose and that some of the wood was starting to splinter ever so slightly, so I took the opportunity to buy you a brand new one. It would be inconvenient for both you and I if your staff were to stop working in the middle of a battle, so think of this as an upgrade. It was intended as a gift, but I am sure that you wouldn’t appreciate receiving it as such. If it is not to your liking, feel free to sell it on and buy another one that works better for you.  _

_ Inquisitor Ilren Lavellan _

 

Vivienne clicks her tongue and shakes her head at the letter. The foolish boy really didn’t need to do such a thing, and yet he had done it anyway. She knows that Ilren isn’t so oblivious that he doesn’t know she dislikes him, and yet he did something like this for her anyway. His trusting and giving nature will get him into trouble one day, she’s sure. She should probably throw this letter away and consider buying a staff that she knows would work well for her. 

And yet, as she glances at the weapon again, she finds herself unable to get rid of either letter or staff. Even after knowing that she doesn’t like him or much enjoy his company, he had gone to the effort of doing something kind for her. He was right in saying she wouldn’t want to accept it as a gift, but she also doesn’t want to think of it as a mere upgrade. 

Vivienne places the letter with the rest of the letters that she keeps for safe keeping and picks up the staff once more. After all, if she is going to be using this one from now on it will need to be tested and practiced with. 

  
  
  


Sera jumps when something hits the back of her head. Turning around, she finds Ilren standing in the doorway to the kitchens with a playful grin on his face. The archer has noticed that he’s more relaxed and playful since Dorian joined the Inquisition and they all moved to Skyhold. He’s more willing to pull pranks on the others with her now and he makes jokes more readily compared to before Dorian joined them. 

“I thought I’d find you down here,” Ilren says as he enters and makes his way over to her. There’s an envelope in his hand - probably some paperwork he’s just finished with. There’s a faint green glow in his left hand and his fingers are shaking slightly. 

“You been running or somethin’? You’re shakin’ pretty bad,” she asks him jokingly before she turns back to the half-made cookies in the bowl. Her brows are furrowed as she stares down at the ingredients in the bowl. She knows she must have done something wrong because it’s all lumpy and a little too wet. This is why she doesn’t like making cookies; too much goes wrong. 

Suddenly, an envelope is slammed down on the table next to her. Sera looks down at it before glaring up at the redhead with her nose wrinkled. 

“What are you playing at? Can’t you see I’m bakin’ here? What’s that for?” she huffs. 

Ilren rolls his eyes. “Open it and you’ll find out, won’t you? I can’t stop for longer today, unfortunately, but I’ll come back and give you a hand making cookies another time. You measured out too much milk, by the way.” 

Ilren swiftly exits the kitchens, leaving Sera to blow a raspberry at him as he leaves. She picks up the envelope and rips it open, scowling when she finds a cookie recipe inside. Is this the Inquisitor’s idea of some sick joke? Why would he give her a cookie recipe knowing that she hates them and hates making them? Maybe this is him trying to start a new string of pranks. Yeah, that must be it. 

As the archer reads the recipe, she finds herself beginning to grow a little bit curious. Some of these spices sound familiar to her and the steps are much easier to read than on other recipes she’s tried to follow. She glances at the doorway Ilren left through and sighs before she gathers up the ingredients from the new recipe. If he wants her to make some cookies then he can be the one to taste them and suffer when they turn out bad. This definitely doesn’t mean that she’s happy with him giving the bloody thing to her. Oh no, she’ll show him. 

But as Sera follows the recipe and goes through the process of making the cookies, she starts to relax and feel a little more at ease. She still hates cookies and making them, but this is much easier than other recipes she’s tried to make. The smell of spices in the air makes her feel at home and she can’t stop the stupid grin forming on her face when she puts the cookies in the oven to bake. The scent only grows stronger as the cookies themselves bake and the room fills with a homely warmth that the elf finds surprisingly welcoming and comforting. 

By the time the cookies are done, Sera has forgotten all about being annoyed at Ilren for bringing her a cookie recipe. She takes a bite out of one of the cookies and spits it back out when it burns her tongue. The taste lingers on her tongue for a moment afterwards, however, and the blonde elf hums in thought. She isn’t sure how, but she made cookies that actually taste alright. The memory of eating cookies as a child suddenly wanders to the forefront of her mind and tears spring to her eyes as she takes another bite. 

Stupid Ilren and his stupid cookie recipe. 

  
  
  


Roxanne yawns as she enters the Tavern at the end of another tiresome day. The laughter from within is welcoming to her, beckoning her in further like a warm embrace. She notices that almost all of the Inner Circle are sat at the table with Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana. Cole immediately jumps up from his seat when he sees Roxanne and she feels a smile tug at her lips. There’s a new hat on his head, she notices, and Cole’s smile is broad. The brunette can’t help but think that she doesn’t see the young boy smile often enough and that he should do so more often as she takes the seat between his and Cullen’s. 

“I missed you,” Cullen whispers in her ear as he tenderly puts an arm around her waist to pull her a little closer to him. 

Roxanne hums quietly and leans against him. He’s warm, as always, and the furs of his cloak are soft as she reads her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t miss the way her chest floods with warmth at the thought that Cullen feels like home whenever she is with him and her freckled cheeks turn pink. 

The brunette is about to close her eyes when she spots the wrapped parcel on the table in front of Cullen. She instantly recognises the way its been wrapped as having been prepared by Ilren. Guilt pokes at her like a needle, making her regret not saying farewell to him when he left for the temple in the Emerald Graves that morning with Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra. She knows that he will be safe, especially with Cassandra in the group, but that doesn’t stop her from thinking that he could die out there and she wouldn’t have even said goodbye to him. 

“Hey now, Splinters, why don’t you open that parcel?” Varric pipes up after taking a swig of his ale. “Leafy left it behind for you when he left this morning. Said he wanted you to have it or something.” 

The Templar-in-training yawns before sitting up to inspect the parcel. It’s neater than usual, she notes, which allows her to feel a little bit of relief. His hand must be getting better if he’s not having as much trouble with wrapping presents or tying bows. Roxanne removes the string and unwraps the parcel with ease as everyone at the table watches. With the paper gone, Roxanne lifts the lid off the box and gasps. She recognises the material within immediately and pulls the item out with excitement. Rising to her feet, she unfolds the item to reveal a cloak of blue as deep as the night sky. Embroidered into the inside of the cloak are embrium flowers of varying sizes. The detail is so astounding that she finds herself choking up. Some parts of the embroidery are better than others and she knows that the Mark on Ilren’s hand is to blame. 

“It’s…” she trails off in a whisper, completely in awe of the hard work that Ilren, the man she considered her brother, put into this cloak just for her. She puts it on without hesitation and beams with joy at the fact it fits her perfectly. Ilren always was talented with needle and thread, even if he would never admit it. 

“I think that’s everyone that’s received a gift from Inquisitor Lavellan now,” Josephine comments as she looks up from the book in her hand, taking a sip of wine before closing the book shut. 

Roxanne frowns as she sits back down beside Cullen. “He’s… given everyone a present?” 

Vivienne hums as she finishes the last of the wine in her glass. “Yes. It would appear that Inquisitor Lavellan has been feeling rather generous as of late.” 

“He gave Cassandra a broach, a few days ago,” Cole informs the brunette. “It made her smile. She belongs here truly, she thinks.” 

“I got some fancy new arrows too. They’re not half bad,” Varric adds. 

Leliana hums. “He gifted that book there to Josephine and I myself was given a new raven to replace one that got killed a few weeks ago.”

The others at the table begin to list things that Ilren has given them over the past few days. Iron Bull a dragon’s fang, Vivienne a staff, Cole the new hat he’s wearing, Sera a cookie recipe, Solas a rare book written in Elven, Blackwall some new tools for his carpentry, and Cullen a box of some sort that he refuses to reveal the contents of. The only person not mentioned is- 

“What did Dorian get?” Roxanne rubs the back of her neck, trying to think of what Ilren could have given him. 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Varric says. “He hasn’t given Dorian anything yet. He’s the only one that hasn’t received something.” 

Roxanne frowns in thought. What could be so special that she would leave Dorian until last to give it to him? 

  
  
  


Dorian finishes the last of his paperwork with a flourish as he screws the lid back onto the bottle of ink. A quick glance out of the window tells him that he’s been working on his research for a little longer than he intended, the sky dark and twinkling with stars. The candle light reflects off the glass of the window pleasantly and it bathes Dorian in an amber glow. 

Sighing wistfully, the Mage places his books into a neat pile by the side of his desk and collects up his paperwork so that it’s not strewn carelessly about the place. His thoughts begin to meander as he tidies up his work space, a certain redhead making his way into his head. He’s fairly certain the elf is playing a game with him. He’ll flirt with him one minute and tempt him with those stupidly mesmerising eyes of his into kissing him senseless, then the next minute he’ll be off flirting with Bull or Scout Harding. He really is a little tease, but that’s what thrills Dorian so. That’s the fun thing about flirting; it excites and delights without getting feelings involved. It’s a game that Dorian is certainly happy to participate in. 

“How did I know I’d find you up here at this time of night?” 

The Mage smirks salaciously as he turns to face the elf. Ilren is still attractive, even in the dim candlelight. Dorian notes the way the amber light draws attention to the scars littering his face and he can only think to himself that even with all those deep scars he’s devilishly handsome. Maybe not better looking than him, but certainly far more attractive than most men he’s been involved with. 

“Anyone would think you were stalking me, Ilren,” Dorian jokes as he sits himself on the edge of his now tidy desk. He watches with unhidden glee as Ilren approaches and places himself between Dorian’s legs. Of course, flirting is perfectly fun verbally. But the excitement of physical flirting? The touches and the almost kisses and the alluring smiles? Those are what really get Dorian going. That’s what he’s learned since meeting the redhead, at least. 

Ilren places a hand on each of Dorian’s thighs. “Or maybe you spend far too much of your time up here, mm?” 

Placing his hands on the redhead’s hips, Dorian pulls him a little closer. If he were a man who didn’t value whatever friendship he had with the Inquisitor, he’d kiss him there and then and take him to bed. As time went on, Dorian was finding it gradually harder not to do exactly that to the elf. How long had they been flirting now? Five months? This game is slowly becoming too much fun for Dorian’s liking. Too much fun and far too tempting. 

Dorian instantly misses the warmth when Ilren takes a step back and removes his hands from the Mage’s thighs. 

“Think you could meet me up on the battlements in a few minutes? I have something to give you,” he asks, a brow quirked ever so. 

How could he resist? 

“I’ll be waiting,” Dorian purrs. He watches Ilren leave with a playful wink and his heart hammers in his chest. Maybe he’s getting caught up in the moment, but he wouldn’t mind if Ilren were to give him a kiss up on the battlements right now. A kiss, and maybe more. That would certainly get a few tongues wagging now, wouldn’t it? Perhaps a few wandering hands and panted whispers as they teasingly touch one another under the moonlight. 

Trying to shake off these thoughts, Dorian makes his way up to the battlements to wait for Ilren. It’s cold out there, he notes. In saying that, it’s always cold down in the South. He wouldn’t mind doing a little something with a certain elf to warm himself up. Unfortunately, he has to face the truth that that’s not likely to happen. Ilren likely held a closeted hatred for his countrymen for everything they did to the elves. Flirting is all well and good when you know it’s not going to go anywhere. Perhaps that is why he flirts with Dorian so readily; he knows that he won’t take it any further. 

Why does that thought make Dorian’s heart sink? 

“You’re here. Good.” Ilren approaches Dorian with a wrapped parcel in his hands. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give this to you.” 

The brunet glances down at the parcel and notes how much of a mess the wrapping is. Parts of the paper is torn and the folds aren’t straight, but he can tell that Ilren put effort into getting it as neat and tidy as he could. With a smile, Dorian reaches out and takes the parcel with a ‘thank you’ before beginning the process of unwrapping it. 

As the last of the paper falls away, his heart skips a beat. Dorian fingers the front cover, the familiar Tevine writing feeling almost like home as he takes in the cover of the large book in his hands. 

“ _ Tales From Tevinter  _ always was my favourite book as a child,” the Mage murmurs with a fond smile as he drinks in the appearance of the book. It’s in practically pristine condition as he looks it over. He flicks through the pages carefully, noting only a few yellowed corners of pages from use. 

“It’s an unedited version,” Ilren informs him. “It was hard to come by, but a merchant in Orlais assured me that it’s the real thing.” 

Dorian gazes up at Ilren, the redhead leaning against the battlements and looking out over Skyhold and the mountains. The Mage tucks the book beneath his armpit and moves to stand beside him. 

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.” The brunet leans with his back against the battlement beside Ilren as he flips the book open to the first page of the first story. There’s a cough from beside him and he lifts his head to find Ilren biting his lip and glancing down at the book. 

“Could you read one to me? One of the stories, I mean. I’d like to know some of the stories you were read as a child.” 

  
Dorian smiles and nods his head. “Come, I’ll read you my favourite,” he suggests and the two of them head back into the castle, hands brushing against one another as they walk. 


End file.
